Sorry for the blood in your mouth
by minttulovesyou
Summary: Drabbles!
1. Chapter 1

Today, a family weeps as they bury a man; our father who art in heaven; our brother who art in the graveyard. A too-big city with fairy tale lights, a man with a too big heart. Tears and blood; what else could there be? Vodka and cheap smiles for gravediggers. A man with a heart pure as snow, light as the first rays of sunlight, carves tearmarks into asphalt with a buck knife. He's got a trench coat and sad eyes, a life with too many mistakes, a life that's not really life, has never been and will never be. Not anymore, anyway.

Blood and whiskey, steely taste of red liquor on top of a tongue. Is this the breaking point? Where he leaves in hopes to find him and never leave? It might be, he thinks - it might be. You can never know. Our father who art in Heaven, take care of him. Let him rest now.

It's a mistake, all of it - a chapter of a heart-wrenching piece of literature, a chapter the author decided to rewrite. No happy endings yesterday, today, tomorrow, goodbye the house by the sea, goodbye the blonde little girl and the dark-haired little boy, goodbye black suits and rings and forever, goodbye all. It's not like anyone wanted any of it anyway.

All out of context, says Sam, downs another glass of whiskey with his red-rimmed eyes staring straight through Cas. All out of context, he repeats. Cas isn't sure what he means. He doesn't know if he wants to know. Sam doesn't look at him.  
At this point, Sam is drunk. Little Sam, who never liked alcohol much - Sam, they buried your brother, they killed your hero. Sammy, what are you going to do now? He pours himself a shot of vodka, mixes it with cranberry juice. As the darkness falls, he cries, steady flow of salty water down his face. Little Sammy, you're alone now.

Charlie leads him back to his hotel room. Sam is still crying, wet marks on her shoulder and deep sorrow in her eyes. Sam's eyes are just shallow pools of cheap escape.

There's two large apple pies and they're playing rock music - a too-big photo of a man in a suit, his eyes surprised as he smiles. Cas traces the angle of his jaw through the glass, Sam is long gone by now and they're alone. Ashes to ashes, burn down the bridges you're never going to cross.

There's black and there's blue - the casket wasn't open because they all know what Dean looks like, wouldn't want to remember him like he is now. Blood and pain and bruises, nightmare after a nightmare, three of them in a row.

Castiel hits the snooze button and thinks of dying for the third time.


	2. Chapter 2

"You wither and you rot and you turn into dust",  
it's sad, it's true, it's life, your father grabs you by the shoulders and shakes you  
and he shouts words you don't want to hear because you're young and you're scared,  
but he doesn't want to hear you either  
so he screams louder and it's all making your head hurt  
a little bit.

Your brother is watching TV, something pointless and mind-numbing  
and he's hugging a pillow to his chest  
and he's tired and his eyes are dark  
and he doesn't deserve to hear any of this.

Frankly, he doesn't deserve any of this,  
like he doesn't deserve the motel room life  
and the white sheets when there should be space ships and dogs and  
the cereal-for-lunch-life and  
he doesn't deserve someone like you to be his brother.

(Your father's words, not yours. Though nowadays they feel like they could be yours.)

He's six and you're ten and he's  
looking at you like you're the stars and the moon and  
he tells you he loves you and  
it terrifies you because you're not sure what it feels like to be loved  
though a rational part of you tells you that  
you must have been loved, somewhere along the way,  
but the way your dad says "disappoint" -  
it's like it's a word saved just for you.

He's not a bad father,  
not really,  
not like the fathers you see on TV,  
the ones who hit their children and let them die silently  
but he's not a good father either;  
the way he slams you into walls and shouts and smells like alcohol  
how he's gone just a little too long a little too far away  
and he makes you scared and he keeps telling you to behave and you try so hard  
but it's not enough and  
Sam grabs your hand and looks up to you and it feels like the weight of the world  
is resting on your shoulders.

See, there are no angels. There's no good in this world, only pain and tears and bruises  
and you know he's trying to fight his demons  
and you're trying to fight yours but  
somedays you're just too tired and he rests his head on your shoulder as you read aloud  
and it makes you a little bit sad to read fairytales like this to Sam because

they're just little tales of nothing but bittersweet lies.


End file.
